Divine Memories

It had taken longer to get there than we had imagined since the first military checkpoint had denied our entry. The bus driver said that he believed a more obscure checkpoint a few miles to the south would be more likely to let us through. As we lumbered along a deteriorated road I can remember imagining the many travelers who ventured to this region in the Judean hills so many years ago. Thankfully, the bus driver was right. We got our clearance, but not without a moment of angst as the soldier boarded the bus, his automatic weapon at the ready, and looked us over before granting passage. Our tour guide, however, was cautioned to remain with the soldiers so we continued into town without her.

The image was nothing new. Since arriving in the Holy Land, the presence of heavily armed security forces had become commonplace. The bus driver told me that since our tour guide was Israeli; the soldiers thought it was best she stayed out but that he thought the whole thing was basically stupid. “She’s perfectly safe,” he said while subtly laughing and disgustingly shaking his head. “It’s all political! A question of who’s going to be in control and they want us to know it. That’s all.”

As we pulled up in front of the ancient church, a young priest came out to meet us. His welcoming smile was a comforting blessing amid the tensions of arriving to this beleaguered city.

Entering the church was an odd experience. The small door, known as “The Door of Humility” is so small that everyone has to bow in order to enter this church. Yet even its presence is a reminder of the violent history of the region for one can see the outline of the original entrance in the wall around the door. Hundreds of years ago, the magnificent entry way was reduced to a small door to prevent looters from stealing the sacred objects from the church.

As we walked through the vast expanse of the sanctuary the light from high windows cast beams of colored light across the dusty space, giving it a strangely angelic look and the marble stone walls of this ancient hall echoed with the sounds of our footsteps. I remember a sense of awe in recognizing that this ancient church has stood for 1,480 years!

Our guide led us up to the side of the altar at the front of the church and through a door that led down a stone staircase into the sacred cave that lies below the ancient floor of this magnificent building.

The damp, musky feel of a cave permeated the atmosphere, but it was clear we were in no ordinary cave. The walls were adorned with magnificent Persian rugs and the whole place was trimmed with beautiful hanging lamps, ornate religious icons, and rich tapestries.

To the right, as we entered the sacred underground chamber, was a small alcove, only a few feet high, it looked somewhat like a fireplace except for the brilliant 14-pointed silver star inlaid in marble on the floor. I had seen the image before and was amazed that I was now gazing upon it with my own eyes.

In this small, secluded alcove in a natural cave that ancient residents used to house their animals, the star marked the spot where Christianity believes Jesus Christ was born.

We stood in silence until someone in our group started singing. “O Little Town of Bethlehem …”

In the peace of that underground chamber, suddenly it all made sense. God enters into the most contentious and stressful places of our lives to meet us as Jesus Christ.

September 11 .... Ten Years After

            The phone rang, jostling me out of bed on a morning when I was already oversleeping. My Mother’s panicked voice on the other end was my first awareness that something horrible was happening. “An airplane has hit the World Trade Center,” she said. At first, I assumed it was a minor freak accident. As we now know, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

            Minutes later, I had the TV on and watched in horror as the second plane smashed into the WTC tower and I knew the world changed forever.

            The rest of that morning was a frenzy of activity as I rushed to get to start my day while listening to NPR for the continued information of the deadly attack.  I was hanging on every word and praying for some degree of meaning, purpose, and understanding amid the chaos and confusion permeating lower Manhattan. Soon, however, my attention was pulled in different directions

            As I was leaving the house, local talk radio station called me into the stuido for a live interview about the unfolding scene in New York. Now, news reports were also coming in that the Penteagon was also a target and speculations the White House would be next were already circulating. Clearly, the whole nation was in shock and disbelief and the initial speculation was clear that Muslim terrorists may be the blame. Since I had done extensive study on Middle Eastern affairs and had personal relationships with Middle Eastern Arabs, the radio host wanted my professional commentary on the unfolding events.

            As I was concluding my radio remarks, the hospital called and requested my services to attend the tragic death of a child in the emergency room and comfort the grieving family. As I was arriving at the hospital parking lot, I listened horrifically to the live reports of the first tower collapsing. While I was praying with the grieving mother in the emergency room, an Emergency Room staff shouted out, “The second tower collapsed.” The world was truly changed. 

            It would be days before my beleaguered spirit came to terms with the catastrophe of that day. Without exception, it was a morning that has altered history forever.

            Yet, the way we choose to remember that tragic day will also impact history—for the positive or negative—depending on how we choose to remember.

            Amid the catastrophic human casualties that September morning ten years ago were peace, love, and authentic religious faith.

            As fear, hatred, and anger took over in the wake of the horrific 9-11 attacks, the terrorists won new victories. Likewise, as these destructive and dehumanizing emotions fueled the post 9-11 rage, both Christianity and Islam—religions that in their authenticity stand for peace—were largely usurped with by a religiosity of retaliation, intolerance, violence and fear.

            Now, nearly ten years later, not much has changed. Muslims continue to suffer unjust and inappropriate discrimination at the hands of professed Christians. Hatred and mistrust continue to prevent faithful dialogue, and efforts to seek peace, healing, and restoration. War rages on in Iraq and Afghanistan and innocent lives perish daily amid the violence and veracious human indignity of incivility and hate.

            Perhaps the most Christian way to remember the 10 year anniversary of September 11 is to commit ourselves to prayer, peace, understanding, and overcoming the evil of this world with the love God has for all, including those who we do not like or clearly understand— and yes, even those who truly hate us!

            These are challenging words that are frequently challenged under the self-protectionist guise of practicality and rationalizations of justified hatred. Yet, in ten years, what has such hatred gained us? A costly decade of warfare that significantly contributed to the collapse of the global economy? The untimely deaths of thousands of American soldiers?  A political system bitterly divided—dare I say hopelessly crippled in partisan rancor? Unrelenting hostility between Muslims and Christians?

            Honestly, I fear that the ongoing hatred, hostility, warfare, violence, and bitter distrust that has permeated our post 9-11 world has done more to fester the bitter wounds of that September morning and have prevented genuine, Godly healing! Perhaps our anniversary remembrances this year can change that.

            9-11 changed the world, but it need not change how the Gospel calls us to respond to the world. Perhaps, as we remember in the days to come, we can make it our focus to remember God’s priority for peace, reconciliation, and forgiveness. Then, on the 20^th anniversary of this tragic moment in human history, we will have proven that peace and love truly are the means to healing.

Silent Tears

            She cried in secret. Her tears were known only to her, as were the bruises and deep emotional scars. In her pain she felt that even God had abandoned her. After all, from all that she had been told, her failures as a woman were as much a disappointment to God as they were to the man who had to beat her into submission.

            Many would wonder why any woman would stay in such a situation. In fact, part of the shame built into her through years of cruel words and distorted interpretations of the Bible leave her in such fear of judgment on the outside that it acts like a prison wall keeping her inside.

            There are those at her church who would help, but over the years, he’s taught her they can’t be trusted and are all really evil. When her friends begin to question or become aware of her pain, his demanding and punitive voice arises in her mind reminding her how dangerous and selfish those women are. Knowing the wrath she must face if they get involved, she has distanced herself from them as well.

            She has left three times before. In every case, the strong emotional manipulation was so strong, she felt safer in the torture chamber of her abusive marriage than living in the fear he had instilled in her. So, in every case she went back. Statistically, she’ll probably leave four more times before she finds the strength to do it for good or is killed in her own home.

            As tragic as her story is, it pales in comparison to the tragic reality that she is only one of countless women who struggle with the harsh reality of abusive relationships. And, not only is she desperately caught up in this deadly cycle of violence, her children are being raised in a this toxic environment. If statistical patterns play out into a new generation, her children will grow up to be abusers or victims in their own adult households and cement the poison into another generation.

            This is not God’s will! In Carlsbad there are countless silent victims of domestic violence every day! Some break free. A few stay with friends or other safe houses. Many seek safe shelter at the Carlsbad Battered Family Shelter. For most, their story is too painful to tell here, yet is also frighteningly real.

            The Carlsbad Battered Family Shelter is one organization that is making a positive difference in the lives of these women. For the staff who works there, it is never just a job, but rather a calling to ministry to the ones most in need of God’s tender, loving touch. Hundreds of women, children, and even a few victimized men have found safety, hope, and grace within the walls of the shelter.

            This story, fortunately, has a happy ending. It took her two more tries, but on the final time she left him, she was able to seek shelter. The loving compassion of the staff and educational supports offered through the shelter gave her the strength and confidence she needed to move on. Today she is on her own and raising her children in the safety and security of her own home. Her abuser is receiving classes designed to break his cycle of violence. It is a happy ending because you supported the Carlsbad Battered Family Shelter. 

              Only when we all stand up in opposition to this horrible sin of Domestic Violence will there be an end to the scourge of silent tears that stream down the faces of too many of our neighbors.